


welcome home, son

by we_are_inevitable



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Strike, The Refuge, Violence, medda and jack are the best mother/son duo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-19 05:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29745543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_inevitable/pseuds/we_are_inevitable
Summary: Jack doesn’t feel safe much anymore, especially not after what happened in The Refuge, so he clings onto that feeling whenever he can.
Relationships: Jack Kelly & Medda Larkson | Medda Larkin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	welcome home, son

Jack Kelly is dying.

He knows it, too. There is something so welcoming about knowing that you are soon to be dead. He starts noticing things he never would have seen before- like the way that lady holds her dress while she stomps through the snow on the sidewalk, or that man lights a cigar in the alley behind the building he works in. He notices kids his age playing in the street, slipping and sliding on the ice and chasing after each other with large balls of snow.

Oh, how he wants to join them.

If only he had the strength.

Jack takes a heaving breath, which immediately results in a violent coughing fit. He brings his elbow up to cover his mouth, wincing at the sharp burning in his chest. It feels as though a fire has ignited in his lungs. Pain blossoms throughout his chest. A thousand sharp knives rake down the back of his throat, leaving him defenseless. Helpless. Weak.

A sob shakes his shoulders. Between the coughing and the crying, Jack is struggling to get a good breath. He’s been dealing with this for, what, a week? A few days? Everything is muddled together. He’s so exhausted, and so, so cold, and the alley is getting darker by the minute and the temperature is already dropping even further and Jack doesn’t know if he’ll wake up tomorrow.

He doesn’t know if he _wants_ to wake up tomorrow, if he’s just going to spend another day hurting.

That thought only makes him cry harder.

He furiously wipes at his cheeks; the tears mix with the freezing temperatures and drive him up the wall, but eventually he gives in, curling in on himself as he slumps against the brick wall. If he could just close his eyes and sleep, maybe he would feel better in the morning. Maybe…

“Oh, my goodness, are you okay, hun?”

The voice comes from out of nowhere. Jack opens his eyes slowly, blinking away any traces of sleep- had he really been out? It didn’t seem much darker, so maybe he just dozed off. He struggles to focus his vision on the figure in front of him, though the picture soon becomes clearer- the figure is an older woman. She has deep brown hair and a darker skin complexion, and there’s a concerned look on her face, but Jack knows this kind of person.

They’ll bring you in, make you feel safe, and hurt you again and again. That’s why he ran away. Why he’s in Manhattan, with no money, no food, no clothes thick enough to keep him warm and no shoes without holes in them. Yet this woman is asking him if he was okay, like she really cares.

Jack can’t believe her. 

Everything in his head is screaming danger. He pushes himself up as fast as he can- which, admittedly, is a bad idea considering the headrush he feels in response. He pushes through it, however, hurrying down the alley once he has his bearings. He’s so, so weak. Every step is agony. The deeper he runs into the alley, into the shadows, the colder he feels. There must have been a burst water pipe somewhere near the back, because the alley suddenly turns from normal to a thick sheet of ice, and within seconds Jack is colliding with the frozen ground. He groans as soon as his shoulder slams into the ice, lying in blinding pain for a few moments as he makes a feeble attempt to catch his breath.

But, still, he hears quick footsteps following him. Jack quickly sits up, making eye contact with the woman just long enough to see that same look. Jack tries to stand, but it’s a useless waste of time; even if he had the strength to push himself up, it’s not like he’d be able to stand. But he has to get away. He pushes himself back as far as he can until he feels his back collide with something solid. 

The woman stops moving toward him, and Jack stops trying to get away; he can’t do it, anyway. Can’t move, especially not as he cradles his shoulder. For a few long moments, the two stare at each other with no words, until Jack hears her take in a deep breath. “Stay there, hunny, it’s okay,” She says softly, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m not- I’m not going to hurt you, alright? I just wanna talk, can you talk to me, dear?”

Jack doesn’t exactly have a choice anymore, though instead of responding verbally, he nods.

The woman nods back, biting her lip for a moment, before smiling- a genuine smile, albeit a little sad. “I just want to help you, alright? I promise I won’t hurt you, dear. Can you… come here?”

Jack stares at her for a long while, and slowly nods once more. He carefully pushes himself across the ice until he’s at the edge, then holds out a hand.

The woman carefully helps him off of the ice, holding onto his hand just long enough to make sure he was on solid ground. She then brings her hand away, holding both at her sides. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?” She asks, and Jack slowly shakes his head. “That’s good. Now, can… Can you tell me your name, sugar?”

Name… Well, his real name isn’t what he goes by- it hasn’t been for a while, not since he left home, and truthfully, Jack likes his new one now. It’s easier than Francisco. Easier to fit in.

Quietly, he says, “Jack.”

“Jack? Jack is a really nice name,” She murmurs with a smile. He can tell that she doesn’t really believe him- brown boys like him don’t typically have names like ‘Jack’- but she seems to understand. He’s grateful for the lack of questioning. “My name is Medda, it’s nice to meet you. How old are you, Jack?”

“Eight,” Jack answers in a hoarse voice, before dropping his gaze to the ground. He still has a slight accent. His New York accent sounds forced. She doesn’t comment.

Instead, she gasps. “You’re-- Oh, darling, you shouldn’t be out here all alone, especially in this weather… Where are your folks, Jack?” The lady- Medda- asks with a critical expression. She looks genuinely worried, which makes Jack feel… bad. He doesn’t want to worry anyone.

“They’s gone.” Understatement of the century. Jack’s mama is dead. Has been for two years. She died a week before his sixth birthday, and after she died, Jack’s pa went off the deep end. He spent every single day working from sunup to sundown, and spent all of his extra time at the saloon. He rarely spoke to Jack, unless he was mad, and he got scary when he got mad. Really scary. Really loud.

And then one day, Jack’s dad didn’t wake up.

Jack decides not to tell this woman that part of the story.

“Oh, sweetheart… Listen here. I have food, and some warm clothes if you need ‘em. Come with me, alright? At least until it gets warmer,” Medda explains, and offers Jack a smile and a hand. “You’ll be safe for a bit. Come with me.”

Jack takes a leap of faith. The two of them walk out of the dark, cold alley together, hand in hand.

***

From then on, the theatre has been his safe space. Jack remembered running around, exploring every room and trying on all of the oversized costumes as a youngster. He watched the girls do their makeup and had become pretty good friends with them, so much so that he almost looked up to them as older sisters. He stayed with Medda a lot when he was young, either overnight at the theatre during the summer or staying on a pallet in Medda’s apartment in the dead of winter.

It was a funny thing, really, to see a scrawny, brown-skinned, wild-haired boy with a funny accent and a crooked smile spend his days with a successful older woman, but Medda was truthfully the best friend Jack had ever had.

The only friend that Jack had ever had, until he heard about the newsies.

Medda had cautiously encouraged him at first- she knew that Jack was going to do it no matter what, but she made sure to explain the dangers and the cons of the job. Jack promised to be careful, and he was.

He spent less time with her. Spent his nights at the lodging house. Stayed with the older boys, learning the tricks of the trade and quickly climbing the ranks. At thirteen, Jack was making more money than the more experienced boys. At fourteen, Jack was training the newbies. At fifteen, Jack had a posse of boys who followed his word, boys he could trust with his life.

At sixteen, Jack is thrown into The Refuge for the first time.

Those three weeks in The Refuge were the worst of his life. Jack had dealt with death and sickness and so much more, but… God, he was broken down in there. Seeing boys younger than him living in horrible conditions, with illnesses and infections, broken bones and broken spirits… It took all of the strength that Jack had not to succumb to everything his mind was running wild with, especially in the days when he wasn’t permitted to eat, or move, or even be near a window. He thought that he was going to die there.

But then, he escapes.

Medda is the first person he musters up the courage to see. He doesn’t want the boys to see him like this- all bruised and bloody, weak and thin, physically, mentally and emotionally _wrecked._

Jack hasn’t felt a pain like this since he was that little boy huddled in an alley, begging God to have mercy on him. His chest burns with each breath- likely a broken rib- and as Jack runs far away from that horrible spot, it gets harder and harder to move, harder to stand, harder to keep himself upright. His entire right side is a collage of purple and yellow, bruises covering the expanse of his skin, and his face- with dried blood and dark bruises- doesn’t look much better.

But he needs Medda. He needs to see her.

When Medda opens the door of her apartment late that night after hearing incessant knocking, the first thing she sees is Jack, who immediately collapses to his knees. She kneels next to him without a second thought, carefully cradling his face in her hands. “Jack? Jack, oh my Lord, who- where have you been, baby? Oh, I thought you-”

Jack cuts her off with a broken sob. “M-Mama, please, I just… I need a place to stay, I-I’m so sorry...”

“Oh, baby,” Medda whispers, pulling Jack into her arms. “Get in here. You aren’t leaving until you’re okay,” She takes in a deep breath as Jack grips her nightgown, and shuts her eyes tightly as she feels his tears saturating the fabric. “It’s okay, baby. Shh, shh, Mama’s got you. I got you. You’re safe, okay?... Shh, shh...”

***

Jack wakes late the next morning with a raging headache. Medda is sitting on the edge of the bed, gently dabbing a wet cloth against the cut on his forehead. “I heard you got thrown in jail, hun... What’s gotten into you?”

“The littles needed new clothes,” Jack answers in a hushed voice, his eyes closing again as he shifts on the makeshift bed. "'N some of 'em needed food. I had to do what I had to do. I just… I didn’t mean to get caught."

"Baby, no…” Medda shakes her head. “Next time you need somethin' like that, you let me know, okay?" She whispers, running her hand through Jack’s long curls. "I don't want you leaving here for a few days. Not until I'm sure you can walk without falling on your own ass," She says with a soft, sad little grin, then leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Jack’s forehead. 

He leans up just slightly, pressing his forehead against her own, before collapsing back onto the bed with a pained puff of breath. "Thank you, Mama.”

Mama. It had taken a long time for him to even consider calling her that, but… well, she’s the only family that Jack has now, even if she isn’t blood. Calling her Mama, or Ma, or referring to her as his mother- it just feels… natural. It feels safe.

Jack doesn’t feel safe much anymore, especially not after what happened in The Refuge, so he clings onto that feeling whenever he can.

In a lot of ways, Medda reminded him of his mother. She was headstrong and stubborn and was so, so caring. She was always singing- though instead of traditional Spanish lullabies like Jack’s mother, Catalina, Medda stuck to songs from whatever vaudeville show she had last seen or put on at the theater. She was such a hard worker, too, just like Jack’s mom. They both had to be. Catalina was an early immigrant, and Medda was a working African-American woman… They were stronger than Jack would ever be, and though it pains him to think about, Jack knows they would have gotten along wonderfully.

“There’s no need to thank me, dear,” Medda smiles softly, then nods. “Go wash up, okay? Im gonna start breakfast here in a moment.”

Jack comes back about twenty minutes later. He looks a bit better now that he’s scrubbed some of the grime off of himself, but his limp isn't doing very well and his bruises are much more apparent now that he’s just in his trousers and an old undershirt. Jack hobbles into the dining room and lets out a soft groan as he sits at the table, watching Medda finish the cooking.

"Mama? Thank you again, for lettin' me stay," Jack starts softly, looking down. "And I'm sorry for worryin' ya. I really am."

"Don't apologize, Jackie," She responds, putting the food on two plates with a soft sigh and a shake of her head. "You just gotta start worrying about yourself a little more. You can't carry the weight of the world, sugar. Just remember that, okay? And never forget you're always welcome home."

"Home?"

"Home," Medda confirms with a soft smile. She brings the plates of food over, placing one in front of Jack. "I know, I know. 'Home’ is a bit of a foreign concept for you, but… Think of this as your home. Okay? My apartment. The theater. You're welcome whenever you need, baby. You’re family.”

“I love you, Mama,” Jack whispers, and he means it. With every bone in his body, he means it. Love has never been something that Jack has been comfortable with, but Medda… He loves her. She’s the only family he has, aside from the boys. “I love you.”

“I know, sweetie,” Medda says with a grin, and squeezes Jack’s hand. “I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> medda larkin deserves the world


End file.
